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Tennessee Rose

by Wolfical


A/N: This is for Steggy's Halloween contest! I could definitely use some recommendations and critiques on rhythm.

Born in the capital of Illinois
His grandaddy raised 'gainst the Iroquois
A gun in his saddle, rose in his hand
Corn meal mush and brown beans canned

Heading down south and heading due west
Frown 'bout his mouth and a weight on his chest
"Could it really be, oh my love, my joy?"
Wondered and fretted the heartsick cowboy

Ratatatat through the bushes and trees
Six guns cracking: onetwothree!
Confusion, pain, moonlight red
A bite in his leg and his horse - dead!

Red rose tumbled with the fall
Came to rest, and that was all
"Hands up, boy" a cruel voice growled
Revealed in the moonglow, the cruel face scowled

A star didn't glint on the old man's breast
Neither were his friends so lawfully blessed
They chawed and spat and looked him up and down
Stole some tobacky, and money from town

They took his saddle, his gun, and his boots
And dashed off a’grinning, with Injun hoots
The cowboy looked ‘round, and all he could see:
A dead horse bleeding on a rose from Tennessee

How far could it be, the next riverbed?
From hence he could travel, hence he could tread
A wound in his leg did hardly deter
His shuffling on without boot or spur

No river found, only a steep incline
‘Twas then a shiver trembled down his spine
Flick’ring in the distance, white as a ghost
Stood Isabel Rose, the one he loved most

It started to rain, heavy as an ox
The mud and the rocks did tatter his socks
But her image was there: his joy, his love
Hovering pale as a specter above

Lifting his voice beyond thunder and rain
Poured out his lonesomeness, poured out his pain
Just ‘fore he slipped on the rocks and then fell
He uttered a cry for help: “Isabel!”

He saw her arm reach for him through the smoke
Transparent no more, but textured as oak
She saved him from falling, setting him straight
But withdrew again; the darkness was great

Dropped to his knees and praying to the stars
He wept and he wept, washing clean his scars
“Why must I suffer? Why hadn’t I died?”
Quiv’ring and scared, with no ghost for a guide

Isabel the spirit had meant no harm
No hesitation to reach out her arm
But now her poor love was forever cursed
For touching a ghost - for death he’d thirst!

To this very day, the cowboy wanders
With all that he has, his time he squanders
Old and tired, but healthy as a horse
His heart still a’drumming, laced with remorse

She had died alone in the cold prairie chill
He would go on living
when the world
stood
still.



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27 Reviews


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Mon Sep 09, 2019 6:46 pm
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Necromancer14 says...



I don't particularly like romance, but this was really well done, very emotional. Also, the title was really good. I can never think of good titles for my literature, but you nailed it perfectly. I also like how it started to rain. It really helped set the mood. All in all, it was extremely well done.




Wolfical says...


Wow thank you so much!! <3



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Sat Feb 23, 2019 2:37 pm
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OofOof1 wrote a review...



She had died alone in the cold prairie chill
He would go on living
when the world
stood
still.

That sentence really had feeling in it, which is what you should have in ever poem. Also, the cold prairie chill is my favorite line of the poem.
Six guns cracking: onetwothree!

That reads very weird too me. The onetwothree got me confused, so maybe space out like this, one two three.
Dropped to his knees and praying to the stars
He wept and he wept, washing clean his scars
“Why must I suffer? Why hadn’t I died?”
Quiv’ring and scared, with no ghost for a guide

That part was sad, which is a feeling that you emphasize in this poem. Great job.




Wolfical says...


Hey! Thanks so much for the review. This thing is kinda old - how did you find it? d:



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Tue Nov 13, 2018 1:30 pm
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MiniGem26 wrote a review...



That was amazing. Okay for starters you have that rhyming so well it could be a scary little lullaby. The words flow so smoothly that it is just amazing. I can't describe how much I loved that but I can attempt to describe what I love about it. Okay this line carries with it so much stylistic flow for the end of a poem that it is insane:

'She had died alone in the cold prairie chill
He would go on living
when the world
stood
still.'


It is amazing how you made the transition from the rhyme structure of the beginning and middle transition so smoothly with the end.

Spoiler! :

a
a
b
b

c
c
d
d

e
e
f
f

c
c
g
g

h
h
i
i

j
j
k
k

f
f
l
l

m
m
n
n


o
o
p
p

q
q
r
r

s
s
t
t

u
u
v
v

w
w
x
x

y
z
1
2
y


I was trying to map your rhyme scheme but I ran out of letters and had to use the numbers '1&2' instead. Overall it is a lengthy poem that was already great with an impeccable rhyme scheme attached. I believe your rhyme scheme may be unique and it does a great way of conveying emotion. Keep writing and thank you for this wonderful piece. :)




Wolfical says...


Hey Loki! Thank you so much for reading and reviewing this! I'm so glad you liked it! : D <3



MiniGem26 says...


Your welcome keep writing my friend.



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Thu Nov 09, 2017 7:06 pm
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Daughter wrote a review...



Hey there, Wolfical! Londone here for a review.

...

I am just blown away. I loved this so much, my heart was touched, and I swear, you are a wizard.

I have no negative things to say about this piece whatsoever, so I'm going to talk about what I think you did well.

Let's just go ahead and copy 'n paste...

Bold: Comments.

Spoiler! :

Born in the capital of Illinois (Already interested)
His grandaddy raised 'gainst the Iroquois
A gun in his saddle, rose in his hand
Corn meal mush and brown beans canned

Heading down south and heading due west
Frown 'bout his mouth and a weight on his chest
"Could it really be, oh my love, my joy?"
Wondered and fretted the heartsick cowboy

Ratatatat through the bushes and trees
Six guns cracking: onetwothree! (This seemed to end a bit too quickly)
Confusion, pain, moonlight red
A bite in his leg and his horse - dead!

Red rose tumbled with the fall
Came to rest, and that was all
"Hands up, boy" a cruel voice growled
Revealed in the moonglow, the cruel face scowled

A star didn't glint on the old man's breast
Neither were his friends so lawfully blessed
They chawed and spat and looked him up and down [
Stole some tobacky, and money from town

They took his saddle, his gun, and his boots
And dashed off a’grinning, with Injun hoots
The cowboy looked ‘round, and all he could see:
A dead horse bleeding on a rose from Tennessee

How far could it be, the next riverbed?
From hence he could travel, hence he could tread
A wound in his leg did hardly deter
His shuffling on without boot or spur

No river found, only a steep incline
‘Twas then a shiver trembled down his spine
Flick’ring in the distance, white as a ghost
Stood Isabel Rose, the one he loved most (This also ended a bit short.)

It started to rain, heavy as an ox
The mud and the rocks did tatter his socks
But her image was there: his joy, his love
Hovering pale as a specter above

Lifting his voice beyond thunder and rain
Poured out his lonesomeness, poured out his pain
Just ‘fore he slipped on the rocks and then fell
He uttered a cry for help: “Isabel!”

He saw her arm reach for him through the smoke
Transparent no more, but textured as oak
She saved him from falling, setting him straight
But withdrew again; the darkness was great

Dropped to his knees and praying to the stars
He wept and he wept, washing clean his scars
“Why must I suffer? Why hadn’t I died?”
Quiv’ring and scared, with no ghost for a guide

Isabel the spirit had meant no harm
No hesitation to reach out her arm
But now her poor love was forever cursed
For touching a ghost - for death he’d thirst!

To this very day, the cowboy wanders
With all that he has, his time he squanders
Old and tired, but healthy as a horse
His heart still a’drumming, laced with remorse

She had died alone in the cold prairie chill
He would go on living
when the world
stood
still.


Good god, this is so good! I don't have much else to say except: WOW! Your poetry skills are on point!

I cannot wait to see more from you!

Londone




Wolfical says...


Aw shucks, really? Thank you Londone!



Daughter says...


No problem! And of course!



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Wed Nov 08, 2017 3:04 pm
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TheBlueCat wrote a review...



Hullo Wolfical! Cat here to review this lovely poem! Okay then, here we go! :D

First, let's go through your poem together:

Spoiler! :
Born in the capital of Illinois
His grandaddy raised 'gainst the Iroquois
A gun in his saddle, rose in his hand
Corn meal mush and brown beans canned (Love this poem already! Such imagery!)

Heading down south and heading due west (Almost seems like opposites, you can't go south and due west at the same time, but I know south is the southern states, or just the south)
Frown 'bout his mouth and a weight on his chest (possibly add 'a' to the beginning? I know it's not necessary in a poem, but is helps with the flow here.)
"Could it really be, oh my love, my joy?"
Wondered and fretted the heartsick cowboy

Ratatatat through the bushes and trees (Love the onamonapia!)
Six guns cracking: onetwothree! (I think you need spaces in between one two three, but I'm not an expert here.)
Confusion, pain, moonlight red
A bite in his leg and his horse - dead! (A bite? Like a bullet bite?)

Red rose tumbled with the fall
Came to rest, and that was all
"Hands up, boy" a cruel voice growled
Revealed in the moonglow, the cruel face scowled (Maybe another word instead of cruel so it's not redundant?)

A star didn't glint on the old man's breast
Neither were his friends so lawfully blessed
They chawed and spat and looked him up and down
Stole some tobacky, and money from town (I'm guessing tobacky is tobacco)

They took his saddle, his gun, and his boots
And dashed off a’grinning, with Injun hoots (Injun?)
The cowboy looked ‘round, and all he could see: (Oh, I thought he was dead, oops)
A dead horse bleeding on a rose from Tennessee

How far could it be, the next riverbed?
From hence he could travel, hence he could tread
A wound in his leg did hardly deter
His shuffling on without boot or spur

No river found, only a steep incline
‘Twas then a shiver trembled down his spine
Flick’ring in the distance, white as a ghost
Stood Isabel Rose, the one he loved most

It started to rain, heavy as an ox
The mud and the rocks did tatter his socks
But her image was there: his joy, his love
Hovering pale as a specter above (Ooh! Nice word choice here!)

Lifting his voice beyond thunder and rain
Poured out his lonesomeness, poured out his pain (I feel like poured should be pouring, but I don't know)
Just ‘fore he slipped on the rocks and then fell
He uttered a cry for help: “Isabel!”

He saw her arm reach for him through the smoke
Transparent no more, but textured as oak
She saved him from falling, setting him straight
But withdrew again; the darkness was great

Dropped to his knees and praying to the stars
He wept and he wept, washing clean his scars
“Why must I suffer? Why hadn’t I died?”
Quiv’ring and scared, with no ghost for a guide

Isabel the spirit had meant no harm
No hesitation to reach out her arm
But now her poor love was forever cursed
For touching a ghost - for death he’d thirst! (That's a neat concept!)

To this very day, the cowboy wanders
With all that he has, his time he squanders
Old and tired, but healthy as a horse
His heart still a’drumming, laced with remorse

She had died alone in the cold prairie chill
He would go on living
when the world (I think its while, not when)
stood
still. (I'm pretty sure this needs to be on the previous line)


What I liked: ALL OF IT!! This was a super great poem, and since I can't rhyme, I love any poem that does! The imagery was so strong and powerful, love it!

What to fix/improve: Not much, just a couple confusions mentioned in the spoiler above.

Other random comments: OMG this poem is so good! I absolutely love it! Sorry but now you have me fangirling over it. xD

Well anyways, awesome poem! Great job and keep writing! :D




Wolfical says...


Thanks a lot for your review, Blue! I'm so glad you like it : D



TheBlueCat says...


Of course!



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Mon Nov 06, 2017 7:23 pm
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zaminami wrote a review...



Hello Wolfical! Kara here for a (hopefully) quick review!

Give me your soul.

With that aside, I'm not the best at poetry but here we go!

Bold = grammar and flow issues.
Italics = suggestions and overall
Strikethrough = remove
Underline = krazy Kara komments.

Spoiler! :
Born in the capital of Illinois
His grandaddy raised 'gainst the Iroquois
A gun in his saddle, rose in his hand
Corn meal mush and brown beans canned

Heading down south and heading due west
Frown 'bout his mouth and a weight on his chest
"Could it really be, oh my love, my joy?"
Wondered and fretted the heartsick cowboy

Rata{-}tatat through the bushes and trees
Six guns cracking: onetwothree!
Confusion, pain, moonlight red {How can moonlight be red?}
A bite in his leg and his horse - dead!

Red rose tumbled with the fall
Came to rest, and that was all
"Hands up, boy{,}" a cruel voice growled{.}
Revealed in the moonglow, the cruel face scowled {Using "cruel" over and over again gets redundant}

A star didn't glint on the old man's breast
Neither were his friends so lawfully blessed {Breast and blessed don't rhyme}
They chawed and spat and looked him up and down
Stole some tobacky, and money from town

They took his saddle, his gun, and his boots
And dashed off a’grinning, with Injun hoots
The cowboy looked ‘round, and all he could see:
A dead horse bleeding on a rose from Tennessee

How far could it be, the next riverbed?
From hence he could travel, hence he could tread
A wound in his leg did hardly deter
His shuffling on without boot or spur

No river found, only a steep incline
‘Twas then a shiver trembled down his spine
Flick’ring in the distance, white as a ghost
Stood Isabel Rose, the one he loved most

It started to rain, heavy as an ox
The mud and the rocks did tatter his socks
But her image was there: his joy, his love
Hovering pale as a specter above

Lifting his voice beyond thunder and rain
Poured out his lonesomeness, poured out his pain
Just ‘fore he slipped on the rocks and then fell
He uttered a cry for help: “Isabel!”

He saw her arm reach for him through the smoke
Transparent no more, but textured as oak
She saved him from falling, setting him straight
But withdrew again; the darkness was great

Dropped to his knees and praying to the stars
He wept and he wept, washing clean his scars
“Why must I suffer? Why hadn’t I died?”
Quiv’ring and scared, with no{t a} ghost for a guide

Isabel the spirit had meant no harm
No hesitation to reach out her arm
But now her poor love was forever cursed
For touching a ghost - for death he’d thirst!

To this very day, the cowboy wanders
With all that he has, his time he squanders
Old and tired, but healthy as a horse
His heart still a’drumming, laced with remorse

She had died alone in the cold prairie chill
He would go on living
when the world
stood
still.


My interpretation:



WOAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHh there is really no interpretation for this one but OML I LOVED IT

Overall:



GAH I LOVED THIS! It didn't scare me, but it definitely has the creep factor that all horror stories/poems need. It honestly reminds me of Edgar Allan Poe :D Keep up the great work!

Why haven’t you given me your soul yet? --

Kara

Image


This review courtesy of
Image




Wolfical says...


Aw thanks Kara! Glad you love it : D



wordwing says...


Actually, moonglight can be orange. The moon can appear orange sometimes.



zaminami says...


I know that. It's a hunter's moon... however, I'm pretty sure that it doesn't appear in the west.



Wolfical says...


Sure it does! I live in the west d:



zaminami says...


Oh... I went there duing hunter's moon time and I didn't see it :P



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Mon Nov 06, 2017 12:15 am
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ChieRynn says...



I don't know squat about poetry or rhyming stuff but man. I like this.




Wolfical says...


Thank you Chie!! That means a lot.




Perfect kindness acts without thinking of kindness.
— Lao Tse